On Christmas Eve
by Maxine-san
Summary: Sometimes the holidays really are all about what you can give to someone else. HarryxDraco if you squint. Finished!


On Christmas Eve

- disclaimer - It's not mine. Really. J.K. Rowling's the brilliant mind behind HP.

- warnings - Slash, actually _no_ smut for once, language maybe. **HBP spoilers!**

- summary - Sometimes the holidays really are all about what you can give to someone else. H/D if you squint.

* * *

When Harry first saw him, he wasn't actually entirely sure who it was. He'd caught a glimpse of white-blond hair out of the corner of his eye, but when he whipped around to look there was only a hunched over figure scurrying down the deserted street of Diagon Alley. As Harry had a hard time imagining Draco Malfoy _scurrying_ anywhere, much less in a hunched over manner and wearing a ragged old cloak like the one this person had on, he was disinclined to believe that he'd really just spotted his ex-classmate. 

Still, Harry took a step back so that he could use the building beside him for cover, and then leaned out to watch. The person was a little ways down the road and had just turned, casting what seemed to be a wary glance up and down the street. A cold wind blew by at that moment, the harshness of it biting at Harry's cheeks, and he shivered and pulled his coat closer around his body, watching as the same breeze ruffled the hood of the blond-haired figure, brushing it aside just long enough for Harry to make out that unmistakable pointy nose.

Malfoy.

What he was doing in Diagon Alley on a day like this, Harry had no idea. But he'd been missing for at least six months, ever since he'd disappeared from Hogwarts' grounds with Snape, and Harry couldn't pass up this opportunity.

The problem with setting out to search for and subsequently destroy all the Horcruxes was that Harry hadn't a clue where any of them were. Nor did he have any idea how he was supposed to find them. And as much as he was loathe to admit it, he had a niggling suspicion that, since Dumbledore had trusted the man so implicitly - despite the fact that Harry had been right all along and Snape was actually a cold-blooded murderer, the bastard - Snape probably had some idea where the Horcruxes were. Or at least _what_ they were. And the last time Harry had seen Snape, he'd been trying to escape with Malfoy.

Of course, Harry also had a hunch that Snape might actually be dead, after the battle at Hogwarts about two weeks previous. There'd been several Death Eaters killed that they hadn't exactly been able to identify, what with the fire and all…

In any case, Malfoy had made it out unscathed, if he'd even been there in the first place, and since Harry had found him, he was damn well going to corner and interrogate him.

Harry quickly made his way to the alley Malfoy had disappeared down, drawing his wand and holding it tensely at his side as he went. He paused when he got there, leaning back against the worn brick wall of the building beside it and peering around the corner.

Malfoy was sitting on a crate near the back, fiddling with something in his lap. There was no one else around, and it didn't look like he was expecting anyone, so Harry moved toward him, wand held out in front of his chest. He had to step around several damp old boxes and some muddy, slushy puddles before he figured he was close enough. Malfoy hadn't even noticed he was there. Harry saw what he had been fiddling with, and his eyes went wide before he could help himself.

It looked like half a loaf of bread, but it was so covered in mold that it could have been an old block of cheese for all Harry knew. There were bite marks in the surface of it though, which made Harry's stomach twist unpleasantly. Pale hands shook as they ripped a piece of the bread off, and Harry found himself wondering why on earth Malfoy didn't have any gloves on.

Then again, the boy's shoes were scuffed and had holes in them, that definitely wasn't a Hogwarts' cloak he had on - it looked more like the moth-eaten blanket Harry had found in Kreacher's cupboard a few months back, thin and fraying at the edges - and unless Harry was mistaken, he thought he had caught a glimpse of the Slytherin-style broider on the cuff of Malfoy's shirt.

Was he still wearing the same clothes he'd run off in last June?

Brow furrowed in confusion, Harry lifted his arm so that his wand was pointed directly in the vicinity of Malfoy's chest and said in a steady, albeit somewhat wary voice, "Malfoy."

The boy jumped as though he'd just been electrocuted, upsetting the bread he'd been holding so that it tumbled from his lap and landed with a slight splash in one of the muddy puddles next to his crate. He stared after it for a few seconds, looking dismayed, before he finally seemed to remember why he'd dropped it in the first place, and he turned his narrowed glare onto Harry.

"Well that's just great, thanks a fucking lot, Potter!" he spat, knuckles going white as they twisted into the material of the blanket over his shoulders. "There goes my dinner for the next goddamn week."

"Dinner?" Harry repeated faintly, his wand dropping a few inches before he realized it and his stomach doing that weird twisting lurch thing again.

"Yes, _dinner_," Malfoy groused, pushing his hood back as he ran a hand through his dirt-streaked hair. Harry couldn't help but stare, and he thought he could actually hear Malfoy's stomach grumbling. The other boy winced, placing a hand on it, and seemed to curl into himself as he drew his knees up to his chest. Harry pointedly didn't look at the pale white skin of his knee showing through the long rip across his trousers.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked instead, raising his wand again.

"Scrounging for food," Malfoy muttered bitterly. He cast a sideways glance at Harry, and finally seemed to realize that this wasn't just a social visit. His eyes went wide and he straightened up a bit, eying Harry's wand nervously. "Are you going to take me in?" he asked in what he probably thought was an indifferent manner, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. "I was wondering when someone would finally come after me. Have to say, I really didn't think it'd be _you_."

Harry honestly hadn't thought that far ahead, and the question startled him slightly. He'd only had a half-baked plan to rush in and question the boy and then - what? Let him run off again? And was it just his imagination, or did Malfoy suddenly look bizarrely _hopeful_ that he was about to be arrested? "I wasn't planning on it," Harry admitted, eyes narrowing a little. He didn't miss the way the boy's shoulders drooped ever so slightly, and vaguely wondered what the hell he'd been through that would make being sent to Azkaban a better option. "Should I?"

"Well I'm wanted, aren't I?"

"Wanted by who?" Of course in the tone that he asked, he might as well have said, "Who'd want _you_?" and Malfoy obviously picked up on it.

"I don't know," he mumbled, turning away and wrapping his arms around his knees again. "No one. Everyone." He sighed, digging a hand into his hair again. "The Ministry, the Dark Lord…"

"The Dark Lord?" Harry repeated in slight bewilderment. Malfoy nodded, and Harry, deciding that if Malfoy was going to attack or put up a fight, he would have done so by now, lowered his wand completely and folded his arms across his chest. "Why him?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? I failed." The hand he had twisted into his hair clenched tighter, and Harry had a strange feeling that this was a topic Malfoy had thought about often. "I failed, I couldn't do it. I'm a fucking useless _coward_ and I couldn't do it!" He was breathing somewhat erratically now, a slight pink coloring his ghostly pale cheeks. "And that makes it my fault, because I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill him and now it's _my_ fault and _I'm such a bloody coward_ and-" Or rather, beat himself up about, often…

"I hardly think being unable to kill Dumbledore makes you a coward," Harry said suddenly, the words tumbling past his lips before he'd even decided he was going to say them. They effectively cut off whatever fit Malfoy had been starting to have, though, which relieved Harry. Malfoy's wide, unfocused eyes and harsh breathing had been making him nervous.

"…What?" Malfoy said in a low tone, turning his face slowly toward Harry. "What - How did you…?"

"Doesn't matter," Harry said dismissively, waving a hand vaguely. "I don't understand, though. I thought… I mean, he is…_dead_…" Harry gritted his teeth and shoved aside the almost overpowering remorse and continued, "That's what Voldemort wanted, wasn't it?"

Malfoy's shoulders twitched at the name, but that was it. "It was my task," he said flatly, turning away again. "And I failed."

"But… You were with Snape though, weren't you?" Time to get back on track. "Why aren't you with him now? Wouldn't he have stood up for you or something?"

Malfoy laughed bitterly, and his voice was full of contempt when he spoke. "_Snape_," he spat. "Oh yeah, right. Like I would have stuck around long enough for him to turn me in. He wanted all the glory for himself, I knew that from the beginning. If I'd stayed with him, he would have handed me over to the Dark Lord, no questions asked."

It took a minute for Harry to process this thought. "You mean…you haven't seen him since _June_? But you ran off with him!"

"I didn't," Malfoy said sharply, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "He stayed and fought you and told me to run. And I did. I ran as far away as I could from _him_."

"So… So you've been…" Harry was still trying to come to terms with this, with the thought that Malfoy had been - "…by _yourself_? You've been alone all this time?"

There were a few seconds of silence, before Malfoy nodded once. Harry floundered. "But…" That hadn't been what he was expecting at all. "Have you…defected, then?"

Malfoy snorted. "Hardly. Well…I mean, yes, obviously, but I didn't have much of a choice. It was do or die. Though nowadays-" He shivered as a sharp wind rushed through, and pulled his makeshift cloak closer. "-I think I'd be better off dead."

Harry tentatively sat down on a nearby crate. Malfoy glanced at him once and then went back to staring blankly at the brick wall across from them. "You…you could have come to the Order for…for help or something," Harry said slowly, unsure really why he was suggesting this.

"Help or something," Malfoy repeated flatly. "Yeah, the great and mighty Order of the Phoenix would really be willing to _help_ me. Out of pity, maybe, but that's the absolute last thing I need. Or _want_."

"Well you didn't actually do anything," Harry pointed out, and he was startled to believe that that was actually the truth. Malfoy had been a right little shit all of last year, and while he'd certainly _tried_ to do some nasty things…well, none of them had actually worked, had they?

"You're joking, right? Didn't _do_ anything? I almost killed your pet weasel, if you recall!" Then, in a quieter voice, "And it's because of me Dumbledore's dead…"

"Well," Harry struggled with himself briefly, trying to figure out why he was trying to prove Malfoy wrong. "Well, you didn't kill him. It wasn't even the Death Eaters you let into Hogwarts that killed him. It was the one…already there…" Malfoy didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. "Look, why aren't you with your parents, at least?" Harry said helplessly. "I mean, I know why you're not with your dad, obviously, but what about your mum?"

Malfoy was silent for a moment, before he started speaking softly. "I did go back to Malfoy Manor once. During the summer, maybe a month after…that night…" He paused, taking a deep breath, and then said quickly, "My mum is dead; that's why I'm not with her."

Harry swallowed thickly. Well. He hadn't known that. "Well shit," he said, with a nervous, almost breathless laugh, and then immediately cursed himself after because what the hell kind of way was _that_ to react? The corner of Malfoy's mouth turned upward, though, and Harry relaxed a little. "I'm sorry," he said, though it came out sounding a bit stiff because really, he wasn't actually that sorry at all.

"I'm sure," Malfoy returned dryly. "Anyway, it's my fault they killed her. If I hadn't - if I could have gone through with it-" He cut himself, sounding choked, and squeezed his eyes shut, visibly trying to calm himself by taking deep breaths. "But that's all in the past now," he said eventually, "and short of finding a really powerful Time Turner, there's not much that can be done to change it."

"Malfoy…it's _not_ your fault your mum was…murdered."

"Don't try to convince me otherwise, I accepted it a long time ago," Malfoy said tiredly, and Harry sighed.

"Well… Why stay here, though? You probably could have escaped into the muggle world fairly easily."

Malfoy's face twisted with disgust and he sneered at Harry. "Just because I'm no longer in the Dark Lord's good graces doesn't mean I'm about to run off and start gallivanting about with _muggles_, for God's sake. I'm not that desperate and pathetic!"

Harry held up his hands defensively. "Right, sorry. Didn't mean to upset the great Draco Malfoy by insulting him so," he said, just a touch sarcastically. "Obviously hiding in damp alleyways and living off of moldy old bread was the better way to go." Malfoy shot him a look, and then raised his eyes skywards.

"It wouldn't have worked anyway," he admitted reluctantly, "I have no money and I don't have access to our vaults until I'm twenty-one or until my father says otherwise. That is-" His shoulders slumped. "-if they haven't already been handed over to the Ministry."

"You could have gotten a job."

"And where would I have lived?"

"They have homeless shelters and such. You could have stayed there until you were back on your feet again."

"With the other homeless muggles?" Malfoy asked, raising one eyebrow a bit.

"Better than living with the rats," Harry muttered, kicking a stone at one of the boxes where he'd just seen one scurry to. They were silent for a minute, the sky growing dark above them. The coldness was beginning to seep through Harry's clothes, and he couldn't suppress the shiver than ran through him. "You know, Malfoy," Harry finally said, jumping down off the crate and beginning to back out of the alley, "if making friends with the wrong sort of wizards kept me from ending up like _this_-" He gestured needlessly at the damp brick walls to either side of them. "-then I have to say I'm glad I made the _wrong_ choice that day."

"Oh sure, rub it in!" Malfoy said darkly, his eyes following Harry's every move. Then, as if he'd just realized that he was about to be left alone again, he asked quickly: "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I thought that for once in your life you might actually be of use to me," Harry admitted, turning back to face Malfoy. "I was going to ask you where Snape was."

"Why do you want to know?" He looked genuinely curious.

Harry shrugged. "I have my reasons." Then he sighed. "Of course you have no idea where he is, so this was all utterly pointless. Not that it wasn't _lovely_ chatting with you, Malfoy, but I really must be going now," he said, heavy on the sarcasm.

Malfoy sneered at him. "Yeah, that's right, run away! No need for me, just toss me aside like everyone else. I'm useless, aren't I?" he spat, jumping off his crate and landing in one of the slushy puddles beside it. "I always have been! Never good enough for anyone, not even my own-" He stopped talking abruptly, glaring down at his own feet as the icy water seeped into his shoes. Harry winced, imagining how cold the boy's feet were going to be that night, especially since-

He blinked, looking around.

Yep, especially since it had just started snowing.

Malfoy jerked as a snowflake landed on his nose. He cursed, rubbing at it, and then tilted his head back to look at the sky. The movement caused the blanket to slip from his shoulders, and it landed with a splash in the puddle that he was still standing in, ensuring that now not only were his shoes a soaking mess, but so were the back of his trousers.

"Oh - _fuck_," Malfoy hissed, bending quickly to retrieve it. "No… Shit! _Damn it_." His voice broke as he cursed, and he sounded utterly frustrated and fed up with the world as he began shaking the blanket out, as if hoping that would make it dry.

"Why don't you use your wand?" Harry asked curiously, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"I…I don't - have one…" Malfoy admitted, burying his face in the still wet and muddy blanket. "I was in the Forbidden Forest awhile back - I don't know, I had some half-baked idea to go to Hogwarts and…talk to McGonagall or something." He was mumbling and his voice was muffled because of the blanket anyway, but Harry could still make out what he was saying. "But I ran into the centaurs and…"

"Ah, yeah," Harry said, guessing what had probably happened from there. "It's a wonder you made it out alive, then."

"I almost didn't. Something scared them off and I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could. I think my ankle still hasn't actually healed all the way…" He finally lowered the blanket, staring at Harry, and Harry was beginning to suspect that he was about to see Malfoy cry again. "Do you think I _wanted_ to end up like this, Potter?" Malfoy asked, voice breaking again as he began to draw in deeper breaths. "I don't _like_ living in the gutters! I detest eating fucking _moldy bread_. _This_ isn't what I wanted for myself, you know. This is _not_ how I thought I'd be living one day!"

"So why don't you do something about it, then?" Harry exclaimed, marching back towards Malfoy. "Stop digging through the trash everyday, stop finding _boxes_ to sleep in, and _get help_."

"You're so fucking naïve! Nobody wants to _help_ me. You've got the entire wizarding world on _your_ side, but there are only two people on _my_ side. And one's dead and the other's in fucking prison, so that leaves me with no one!"

"You haven't got a side, Malfoy. You have a hole that you dug for yourself, and now you're burying yourself in it," Harry spat. "I didn't think you were a coward before - in fact, I think lowering your wand that night and _not_ killing Dumbledore was a pretty damn brave thing to do. But now… Now I _do_ think you're a coward. Look at you, for God's sake! You look like shit. Grow a goddamn spine, Malfoy. Stop living like this! Nothing will ever get better if you don't take the first step and make an _effort_ to change things."

"How do you know I lowered my wand?" Malfoy asked faintly, his eyes wide.

Harry threw up his hands and let out an exasperated sound. "Is that all you heard me say?"

"No, I heard the rest," Malfoy said, his eyes narrowing again. "I don't need a bloody lecture from _you_ of all people."

The snow was starting to fall more thickly around them, and Harry could see that Malfoy was visibly shaking now. He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets, and gave Malfoy a sideways glance.

"Alright, fine. Come on then," Harry said tiredly, turning to walk out of the alley.

"What?"

"Come on! I've got a room at the Leaky Cauldron, you can stay there tonight."

"What - what makes you think I'd want to stay with you?" Malfoy spat, though Harry could hear him trailing behind.

"Look, Malfoy… It's Christmas Eve, alright? I just figured you'd rather spend it somewhere warm."

Malfoy stopped short. "It - what? Is it really?"

"Yes," Harry replied slowly, turning to look at him. "Why?"

"It's just… I had no idea, that's all." Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, looking anxious, and let out a nervous laugh. "I feel like I should have bought presents or something…but who would I give them to, right? Hell, what money would I have bought them with? Oh - shit." He rubbed frantically at his eyes, and Harry heard a gasping breath escape him, though he was obviously trying to muffle it.

"It's ok, Malfoy," he said softly. Malfoy dropped his hands from his now red-rimmed eyes abruptly and glared at Harry.

"Don't you fucking patronize me, Potter!" he growled. "I don't need your pity!"

"It's _not_ pity!" Harry insisted, drawing back and crossing his arms. "Consider it a…hell, I don't know, a Christmas present or something. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm bloody _cold_, so I'm going. Do whatever you want." He turned away yet again, vowing to himself that he wouldn't look back this time. There was silence for a moment, and then a muffled curse and the sound of feet slapping against the pavement as Malfoy hurried to catch up.

"I suppose you want me to thank you now," he sneered, pulling the soggy blanket over his head so no one would recognize him.

Harry snorted. "Oh please, don't scrounge up some manners for _my_ benefit."

Malfoy "hmphed," glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "Why are you by yourself then, if it's Christmas Eve?"

Because Ron was still holed up in bed at the Burrow recovering from injuries he'd sustained at the Hogwarts battle, and Harry had practically had to shove Hermione on the train to her parents' house, and since both of them were spending Christmas with their families, Harry, for once, just didn't want to interfere, no matter how much everyone tried to persuade him otherwise.

But Malfoy didn't need to know all that.

"No particular reason," Harry said, shrugging. "Just didn't want to impose myself on anyone this year."

"I heard you had a house of your own now? We'll ignore the fact that in all actuality it should belong to my crazy aunt, but you know…"

Harry grinned a little, despite himself. "Yeah, I do. And believe me, I'd be more than happy to give her the house-elf I got saddled with, at least, but that wouldn't work out very well, in the end."

"You seem to like stealing my family's house elves," Malfoy said dryly, and Harry's grin widened some.

"Apparently. Anyway, there are too many people at Grim-…at my house, and I kind of felt like spending the night alone."

"You're not alone, though. I'm here."

They paused outside of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry staring at Malfoy a little. "Yeah, but I asked you to come," he said eventually, and then pushed open the door. "Alright, keep your head down. Let's go."

& & & &

"Right, well, there's only one bed, but I don't mind sleeping on the floor, so you can have it. I can lend you some of my clothes, too. We're about the same size, yeah? The shower's through there - I'll find us something to eat, in the meantime."

Malfoy stood in the middle of the sparsely furnished room, rubbing absently at his arms. He'd dropped the blanket from his shoulders the moment they'd come through the door, and it was now in a soggy pile at his feet. He seemed kind of dazed, as if he couldn't believe he was actually going to be spending the night inside, and when Harry finished speaking, Malfoy looked at him sharply. "Shower? Are you implying that I smell, Potter?"

Harry paused where he was digging through his bag hoping to find something Malfoy could wear, and looked at him over his shoulder. "Malfoy, you're so far gone at this point that there's really no point in _implying_ anything. You look terrible. There's a mirror in there if you don't believe me."

Malfoy huffed, looking highly affronted, and strode into the bathroom. Harry smiled to himself when he heard the boy's startled yelp. Or maybe _anguished cry_ would be a better way to term that.

"Fucking Merlin on a bloody _broomstick_, I had no idea I looked that bad!" Malfoy exclaimed. Harry snorted and followed him, kicking Malfoy's sodden blanket into the corner. Leaning against the doorjamb, he watched as Malfoy clutched at the sink with one hand and tugged fruitlessly at one of his greasy locks with the other. "_Gross_," he hissed, shifting his gaze until he was looking at the reflection of Harry over his shoulder.

There was an odd silence after that, Harry's stomach reeling as he suddenly remembered the last time their eyes had met in a mirror. Malfoy blinked at him.

"Déjà vu," he murmured, glancing away and shifting nervously.

Harry cleared his throat. "Did I…er…did I mention that I was sorry about that?" he asked awkwardly. "Because I really didn't mean to…I mean, I had no idea what that spell would do."

Malfoy shrugged. "I suppose giving me a place to sleep for the night makes up for it." He picked absently at one of the many spare threads on the cuff of his shirt. "It's really Christmas Eve?" he asked abruptly, raising his eyes to meet Harry's in the mirror again.

Harry had still been caught up in the memory of Malfoy lying in a pool of his own blood all those months ago, and it took him a few seconds to get his mind back to the present. "What? Oh - yes. I told you that already. Why?"

"It's just that…" Malfoy pursed his lips, exhaling harshly through his nose. He turned around to lean against the sink, and began unbuttoning his shirt. "It's just that I didn't realize that much time had passed," he admitted. "It's…rather depressing to think that I've - that I've been living like a criminal on the run for the past _six months_." He reached the bottom button, and then paused. "Oh, wait, I _am_ a criminal on the run…"

"More like a coward on the run," Harry said, smirking a little.

"Ok, I get it, thanks," Malfoy snapped, finishing the last button and pushing the dirt-stained shirt off of his shoulders. "I should have sucked it up and turned myself in. Or…gone to the Order or, hell, even back to the Dark Lord. Something, at least. No need to keep pushing the - what?"

Harry was staring at him in something akin to horror. Or shock. Well, definitely shock, but with a little bit of horror mixed in. Malfoy had always been thin, Harry knew that much, but he was beyond skinny now. Harry could make out every one of his ribs, and in the mirror's reflection he could see the line of bumps that was Malfoy's spine down the middle of his back. He was paler than he had ever been, the stark whiteness of his skin nearly matching the porcelain of the sink he was leaning against.

And there was a slightly raised, silvery scar running jaggedly from Malfoy's right hip up to his left shoulder.

"I thought Snape said there wouldn't be any scarring!" Harry cried, aghast.

Malfoy blinked, looking down at his chest and running a finger lightly along the scar. "Oh, this? Yeah, well, there probably wouldn't have been, but I refused to let him take me to see Pomfrey."

"_Why_?" And just as quickly as he had asked the question, the answer came to him. "You didn't want her to see your dark mark." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement, and Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him.

"No, actually," he said tersely, and then thrust his left arm out. Harry eyed the pale, _unmarked_ skin there in disbelief.

"But…but you showed - I mean, I saw - but-"

"The Dark Lord wasn't sure I was _worthy_ of one yet," Malfoy grumbled, pulling his arm back to his body and holding it almost protectively against his chest. "I would have gotten it after killing…well, you know…"

"Then why didn't you go see Madam Pomfrey?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Didn't want all the extra attention, I guess."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Malfoy, there are times, although quite far and few between, where I think I might just understand where you're coming from. And then there's the _other_ times, which occur far, _far_ more often, where I have absolutely no idea how your mind works."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thanks," Malfoy said with a smirk - which promptly vanished when his stomach suddenly grumbled loudly. His cheeks went pink.

"Oh, food, right," Harry said quickly, jumping away from the door. "Here, you can wear these when you're done." He shoved the pile of clothes he'd been holding into Malfoy's arms, and then exited the bathroom, calling: "I'll be back in a bit!"

The door slammed shut behind him.

& & & &

There was a two-seater couch in front of a fireplace that still had a few glowing embers left in it in Harry's room. He found Malfoy curled into one corner of it, the clothes Harry had lent him looking as if they were about to swallow him whole. Harry thought he was asleep at first, but when he stepped further into the room and one of the floorboards squeaked beneath his foot, Malfoy looked up sharply. Once he saw who it was, he went back to staring at the dying flames.

"Here," Harry said, stepping around the couch and pressing a bowl of hot soup into Malfoy's hands. He accepted it eagerly while trying _not_ to look eager at all, and then ruined the whole effect by gulping down half of it before Harry could even sit down.

"Thanks," he murmured, swallowing.

"Welcome," Harry returned, amused. "If you bothered to taste it at all, you'll know it's chicken soup."

Malfoy wasn't paying attention, and was instead draining the rest of the bowl's contents greedily. Harry said down tentatively on the other end of the couch.

"Er… D'you want mine?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at the other boy's now empty bowl. Malfoy finally seemed to realize how fast he'd just wolfed down his meal, and his cheeks flushed slightly.

"Oh - no. I mean-"

"It's fine," Harry said quickly, passing it over. Malfoy took it hesitantly. "I brought spoons, too. Not that you needed one." Harry grinned as Malfoy's cheeks went a deeper pink. "And there's sandwiches." He gestured at the plate he'd set down on the low table in front of them.

Malfoy frowned as he took his time spooning the broth into his mouth. "Why am I here, Potter?" he asked finally, setting down the bowl and snatching up a sandwich.

"Because you followed me back, probably. And because it's Christmas-"

"Christmas Eve, yeah, you mentioned that," Malfoy interrupted, sounding slightly frustrated. "But that's not what I'm asking and you know it. _Why_ did you offer to let me stay here?"

Harry swallowed, turning his attention to the dark window on the far wall. There were still snowflakes swirling through the air. They looked like they were falling more thickly now, actually.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Harry finally replied. "Maybe…maybe I didn't want to spend Christmas alone as much as I thought I did."

"You could have gone to Weasley's."

"But I didn't, alright?" Harry snapped, annoyed for some reason beyond him. "I didn't. I'm here, you're here, I don't know _why_ you're here, but you _are_."

There was silence for a moment, before Malfoy said softly: "I can be out of your hair in the morning. So you can still go-"

"I didn't say you had to leave-"

"If you don't mind just letting me stay the night. I'd really prefer I didn't have to sleep in a foot of snow-"

"_Malfoy_." Malfoy looked at him. Harry sighed, flicking his wand absently towards the fireplace so that the flames roared up again. He pushed a hand through his hair. "Malfoy, you're not leaving. And you can stay here tomorrow, too."

"Why?"

"Well…since it'll be Christmas and all…"

"Potter, that excuse is getting old," Malfoy said, but Harry saw that he was trying to hide his smile behind the sandwich he was holding.

"Yeah, but it's the only excuse I've got," Harry murmured.

Malfoy finished his sandwich and brushed the crumbs off his hands before standing up and stretching. "Well, I'm knackered," he said, sounding more cheerful than he had all day, which was something new to Harry because he usually didn't picture Malfoy as being _cheerful_. "You said I could have the bed?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can sleep on the couch."

Malfoy looked back down at the aforementioned couch, eyebrows rising a bit. Harry knew why; it hardly looked big enough to stretch out on.

Scratching at his stomach absently, Malfoy yawned, eying the bed now. "Well. Well the bed's plenty big. I suppose…I mean, it is _your_ room and all. We can…share it."

Harry followed the other boy's gaze, and couldn't help grinning. The bed was barely wide enough for two people itself, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch, and if Malfoy was offering…

Harry laughed, though he wasn't sure why, and for the first time he felt genuinely happy that he'd let Malfoy come back here with him.

"You know… Nevermind. Just - Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, and then, almost reluctantly, his lips curled up into a small smirk.

"Yeah. It just might be."

**FIN.**

* * *

This year's Christmas fic! Ha, it went in a completely different direction than I'd originally planned, but I'm pretty happy with it nonetheless. .

Hope you all had a fantastic holiday, and Happy New Year!

-Maxine


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